On a seemingly normal day in Brooklyn, club owner and DJ Dre (Katy O'Brian) is floundering. She’s desperate to find a replacement when her latest show’s headliner, international drag superstar Jasmine (Dominique Jackson), cancels at the last minute. Meanwhile, across town in a downtown hospital ER, Dre’s nurse wife Lizzy (Riki Lindhome) is trading barbs with best friend Sam (Jaquel Spivey) — a former drag sensation who ended their career under mysterious circumstances — while caring for Trans patient Jane (Eve Lindley).
Later that evening, and much to the delight of the show’s host and the new arrival’s former drag mother Ginsey Tonic (Nina West), Sam unexpectedly arrives at Dre’s club. Lizzy has convinced him it would be the perfect venue to stage an impromptu comeback, even if it might be for one show only. But Sam and Dre have a complicated history, and there’s no guarantee they’ll be able to work out their personal issues before the patrons start to arrive for their night of drinking, dancing, and sweaty fun.
But before any of that can happen, director Tina Romero, daughter of George A. Romero, triggers the zombie holocaust, and her feature-length debut Queens of the Dead suddenly comes vividly to life in all its rambunctious, triumphantly Queer undead glory — a worthy companion piece to her father’s classics (most notably the iconic trifecta of Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead, and Day of the Dead). The filmmaker still makes the genre her own, infusing a sense of hope and optimism amid all the bleak, flesh-chomping madness of the apocalypse.
Romero and cowriter Erin Judge split their story into distinct, parallel halves. The first concerns the small group at Dre’s club — which comes to include Jackson and the likes of Jack Haven, Cheyenne Jackson, Tomás Matos, Quincy Dunn-Baker, and the talented Margaret Cho, all of whom get multiple moments to shine — and their attempts to figure out an action plan. The second involves Lizzy and Jane as they make the perilous trek from the hospital to the club in what they can only surmise is a race against time, the former refusing to believe anything bad has happened to her beloved while the latter is calmly elated to have found a friend who seems to honestly care whether or not she lives or dies.
Through all of this, Romero weaves not-so-subtle commentary on Queer subculture, found family, the opioid crisis, and social media addiction. These zombies are far more flamboyant than the ones we typically see in these films, almost as if their transformation has given their skin a faint, iridescent shimmer that sparkles in the right light (and especially underneath a disco ball). While they’re all as carnivorous as ever, they’re also prone to mindlessly wandering around, staring at their cellphones as if they’re struggling to post a selfie or upload a viral TikTok video — even if none of them any longer knows why they want to do it.
This idea of zombification as a mirror to society’s self-inflicted communal isolation works rather well. It forces the survivors to do the one thing they’ve almost forgotten how to do, and that’s to openly and frankly communicate with others face-to-face. They have to put their differences aside and problem-solve, and they need to do it together, not as individuals. This evolution, especially for Dre and Sam, is wonderful, building to a lovely moment of catharsis and forgiveness.
But I had a rooting interest in all of the characters. This meant that, when some do die — as they sadly must in a story such as this — my heart genuinely ached. Even if they may start out as LGBTQ+ caricatures, that feels entirely by design. Romero and Judge do a sublime job of fleshing each out, even when utilizing narrative shorthand. When they make mistakes or do something selfish, they still resonate. Their lives matter. This makes their fight to get out of Brooklyn alive all the more worth cheering on.
Led by Love Lies Bleeding breakout star O’Brian, it’s a crackerjack ensemble, and every member rises to the occasion. Spivey gets the most multifaceted arc: Sam’s journey to rediscovering their self-confidence (and inner fabulousness) even brings on a couple of happy tears. But it is West, Lindley, and especially Haven who steal the show. The latter, portraying the semiflighty, emotionally empathetic Kelsey (adoring wife to Cho’s gung-ho, confidently take-charge Pops), has one outstanding moment after another. Their comebacks and one-liners are consistently amusing, while an impromptu song while dumbfoundedly staring at a perplexing axe wound is nothing short of hysterical.
Yet the best thing about Queens of the Dead is how universal its core elements are. While this is a proud, unapologetic saga of Queer survival, Romero has also brazenly crafted something that speaks to humanity in all its myriad textures, colors, races, and genders. She travels into a night of zombie terror and finds a reason to believe that humankind can make a better world that everyone can live in together, no matter their differences before the undead walked among them.
Romero’s world also just happens to be one with a Kesha-enhanced club beat, killer dance moves, flashing lights, stiletto heels, and maybe even a crossbow for good measure. Works for me.
Support the Seattle Gay News: Celebrate 51 Years with Us!
As the third-oldest LGBTQIA+ newspaper in the United States, the Seattle Gay News (SGN) has been a vital independent source of news and entertainment for Seattle and the Pacific Northwest since 1974.
As we celebrate our 51st year, we need your support to continue our mission.
A monthly contribution will ensure that SGN remains a beacon of truth and a virtual gathering place for community dialogue.
Help us keep printing and providing a platform for LGBTQIA+ voices.
How you can donate!
Using this link: givebutter.com/6lZnDB
Text “SGN” to 53-555
Or Scan the QR code below!
